Tonight
by Fyrest
Summary: The apocalypse has happened. Two men, both YouTube stars, take a boat and sail the sea. However, they run out of food and water. What will they do? Reviews appreciated.


The ocean was calm and slow, the waters moving sluggishly back and forth, the moonlight reflecting off of the glassy surface. A small boat floated atop the waters, drifting with the direction on the current. The silence in the air was palpable, intimidating in its presence. Two men sat, alert, in the small vessel, watching the area around them apprehensively. A shiver ran down one of their frames, and the man pulled his jacket closer to his body; he knew that if they did not come to land soon, they would surely die of hypothermia. His dark chestnut hair was messy and unkempt, knotted and tangled in such a way that he was sure he would have to cut it.

He looked down at the object in his hands: a white ceramic mask of the Sup?-guy face. It was a symbol of him and of his past, a small sliver of home and hope. It was scratched and caked in dirt. There were even a few specks and streaks of blood, dried black from days at the cold, merciless sea.

The brunette glanced over at his companion, who was no better for wear than he was himself. In fact, the reliable Swede beside him was more than likely worse off, mentally. The other man gripped his jacket tightly, his knuckles white with the strain. His cerulean blue eyes were blood-shot, and he shivered, his teeth clacking together audibly. He was no doubt much colder than the brunette; he had fallen overboard hours prior during an attempt to signal a faraway ship. The ship had probably been abandoned; neither of the two wanted to believe that they had been ignored. However, no matter how much they hoped, they could not deny the horrific state of the world. And the said state was that the dead were walking, and they were eating any survivors they could find.

At first, it had seemed like a media hoax, something to gain popularity or to scare the people of the world. It had started in Europe, in England. It spread to the east first, into Russia and Australia and Japan. The people of the Unites States and South America thought they were safe.

They were wrong.

Within two months, the virus had dominated over a third of the North American continent. No one knew what had caused it, because anyone that had known was either too scared to say anything or already dead. A lot of people thought it was best to evacuate, into Chile or some remote island. The two men in the boat had been among them. Without a map, they had set sail from Florida, and they hadn't seen land since. It had been two weeks. They had run out of food and water four days previous, and they had finally come to the appropriate conclusion to their situation.

They were going to die.

Oh, yes, they reached this conclusion by midday of the second food and waterless day. It had been so clear, so painfully clear, that the two of them could not sleep for a solid four hours. Despite the morbid idea, this conclusion had taken a weight off of their minds that day; they were going to die! It was such a wonderful revelation at the time; they even began to sing some of the nostalgic songs from their lives, ranging from pop to rock to Swedish children's songs. The ecstatic feeling lasted through the third day, when they spoke of their old lives and loves, reliving moments from the world they were sure they would never see again. But when the sun rose to signal the beginning of a fourth day without sustenance, the euphoria slipped away. The meaning of the once happy conclusion hit them like a ton of bricks. The entire day was spent in silence as they tried to avoid the inevitable: thinking of the families they would never see again, of the friends they would never hear from again. It dawned on them how astounding it was that they had been elated about dying only hours earlier.

Now it was dark, and the two men were suffering worse than ever before. The temperature had dropped drastically since nightfall, and they could see their breath in the frosty air. They shivered visibly, huddling closely to salvage any warmth possible.

"C-Cry?" the Swede said quietly, breaking the silence.

"Y-yeah, P-Pewds?" Cry replied shakily.

"D-do you th-think she's s-still alive?" Pewds asked. Cry glanced at him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Pewds met his gaze, his blue eyes concerned. Cry knew whom he was referring to: Marzia. She had been Pewds' girlfriend for years before the world fell into the grip of hell, but Pewds hadn't been able to find her. They'd taken off on the boat, with hopes that she was safe.

"I d-don't really kn-know, man," Cry said gently. "Sh-she's tough; b-but I w-wouldn't c-count on it." Pewds nodded silently, and Cry dropped his hand. Slowly, he shrugged off his coat and handed it to the thoroughly soaked Swede.

"H-here," he said.

"N-no way!" Pewds replied quickly, pushing it back to his friend.

"J-just t-take it, okay? I d-don't want you d-dying overnight on m-me." Slowly, the blond took the garment, pulling it over his shoulders.

"Th-thanks," he said, to which Cry only shrugged. After a moment, Cry picked up his mask, sitting up straight. With a sigh, he pulled on the band and slipped the cool surface over his face, the item feeling foreign and unfamiliar as he did so, smiling nonetheless.

It was about an hour and a half later that a sound reached the masked man's ears. Quickly, he shook the man beside him awake.

"Pewds!" he whispered frantically. "Pewds, wake up! I hear something." Slowly, the blond rose up from the floor of the boat, hair disheveled, as alert as though he'd never fallen asleep. He listened intently.

"I d-don't hear a-anything, C-Cry," he said after a moment, but Cry waved him silent. Then, the sound came again, louder than before.

_Drub, drub, drub. _Cry glanced at Pewds, who nodded; he heard it, too.

_Drub, drub, drub._

It was faint, but it was getting louder as they listened: a helicopter! The cold seemed to dissipate from their frigid bodies, in the light of the possibility of being rescued.

"Cry, get the stuff!" Pewds cried. "Hurry!"

"I'm on it!" Cry replied hoarsely, pulling out a box from under one of the seats. Opening it up, he withdrew a flashlight and mirror, handing the flashlight to Pewds. He flicked it on and light shone brilliantly from the end of it, swallowed up by the endless darkness around them. Cry quickly got in position, and the beam bounced off of the mirror and into the sky. Changing the angles, Cry dared to hope they would catch the helicopter's attention. It seemed to work, too, because the sound began to steadily increase in volume.

"We're over here!" Pewds shouted, motioning for Cry to join in.

"We're survivors!" he shouted quickly. "Survivors, here!" They shouted as loud as their beaten lungs would allow, and, with the help of the mirror and flashlight, a search beam located them.

"We see you," a female voice said over the speaker. "Are either of you infected?"

"No!" Pewds shouted back, his joy showing on his face and in his voice.

"Good," the voice replied. "We'll check you soon, to be sure. We're sending a ladder down- "Pewds and Cry cried out suddenly, as their boat began to tilt to the left.

"What the-" Pewds stuttered. When he looked over, however, he saw just what it was.

A moan escaped its peeling lips and a rancid scent reached the men. It scrambled to get in the boat, the entire thing tipping in its direction. Cry quickly grabbed hold of Pewds' jacket, pulling him away from the creature's grasp. However, a sharp pain laced through his other hand, and he cried out in shock, yanking it to his body.

However, the ladder from the helicopter dropped down.

"Get on!" the woman shouted. "We'll take you to safety." Pewds quickly grabbed one of the rungs, stepping on.

"Come on," he said to Cry, stretching out his hand. With dread in his heart, Cry grasped the Swede tightly as the helicopter lifted the away from the terrifying scene. As they flew high into the air, they say that the boat had been surrounded by a whole horde; they had been lucky. Very lucky.

"Cry, man, you gotta climb up," Pewds said suddenly. "You're kind of heavy." But Cry shook his head. "You're slipping!" Pewds exclaimed. It was true; the only thing keeping Cry on the ladder was Pewds' iron-clasp grip.

"Let me go," Cry said quietly. Pewds' eyes widened, and he shook his head vehemently. "Do it!" Cry shouted. He reached up and pulled his sleeve down slightly. A gasp escaped the Swede despite himself: there was a small, bloody bite mark on the brunette's wrist. It was smeared and black, but it was easy enough to see the indentations and cuts on his pale skin.

"One of them got me," Cry said sullenly. "But you're fine. You can survive. I won't hurt anyone. I don't want that, you know."

"But I don't want you to die," Pewds replied numbly, his voice barely above the whir of the helicopter propellers.

"I know," Cry said. "But think for a second. I might kill you, Pewds. I wouldn't be able to stop myself, you know that. You know that. So just… just let me go, okay?" A sob escaped the blond, and Cry's throat constricted painfully.

"Okay," Pewds said. "Okay."

"Good," Cry replied, clearing his throat. "Try to find others, okay? Live and protect them. And don't give up, okay? For me." Pewds nodded.

"I won't," he promised. "And I'll never forget you." Cry smiled.

"Deal."

"Bro-day every day?" Cry let out a laugh, shaky, at the phrase.

"Bro-day every day, friend." Slowly, tears streaming down his face, Pewds let go of his best friend, watching him fall into the waters below.

Pewds never saw Cry again. His body was never found or recovered, even once the virus had cleared out completely. A cure had been found just three months after Cry had been dropped. Some say he may still be alive, but even Pewds doubted it. The world returned to a normal-ish state about a year and a half after the cure was released.

Five years after, Pewds rented out a boat. With the help of the woman whom had flown his rescue helicopter, he located the spot where Cry would have landed.

"I'll never forget you," he whispered, leaning over the railing of the tour boat. The water sparkled at him merrily. The sun beat down on his back, the summer relentless in its heat. "The world might, but I won't. You saved my life, friend. Internet was restored last year, so I'm back to the usual. It's all thanks to you.

"I've got two kids, you know. They're beautiful, a boy and girl. Her name's Jade. She's so pretty now." A laugh rang out, sounding oddly sad even to his own ears. "She's only four, but she's faster than Ryan. Ryan's five now, and he's an awfully lot like you. Shy." Pewds sighed, looking at the water with a longing that he couldn't quite describe.

"I've got to go. Don't worry though. I'll bring them all around here one day, you'll see. See ya, Cry." He started up the boat, drifting away.

As he made his way back, he threw a porcelain mask, brand new, into the waters, the face facing down into the depth of the ocean.

* * *

**A/N: Cliche, right?**

**Kind of?**

**I was actually going for that effect. I hope I achieved it.**

**I have another small one-shot coming up, actually pretty simply and very, very quickly written. It's pretty bad, actually.**

**I'll be working on a few other projects too. I know I've been rather lazy in my work, but I'll be doing a whole lot more once February 2nd passes. Then I'll have a pretty good leeway to type things up, which is the main issue.**

**Review, favorite, whatever else you do! Let me know what you thought about it; tell me if I've made mistakes anywhere, et cetera.**

**Thanks!**


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